


With Words You Do Not Say

by suckerfordeansfreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Anal Fingering, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Dean likes to put up a Show, Frottage, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Lace Panties, M/M, Neighbors, Panties-Wearing Dean Winchester, Pining, Pining Castiel (Supernatural), Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Voyeurism, Watching, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 05:03:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suckerfordeansfreckles/pseuds/suckerfordeansfreckles
Summary: Cas moves into a new apartment, and it’s almost too perfect for him: close to college, in a quiet little neighborhood, more than enough space for him alone — and a little weird, just like him.Because, for whatever weird reason, all of the apartments’ front doors in their building are made of wood, with huge panels of glass. And, sure, it’s nice to have his flat flooded with light, but it’s also a little unsettling to know that everyone could walk by and watch him go about his life in there. Which is why he makes sure to cover his windows right after moving in.It’s a little while after that, that Cas notices that his neighbor doesn’t seem to care about the glass panels in his door as much as Cas does.And he also learns that it's very hard to avert his eyes, when he could instead watch Dean Winchester dance through his room.





	With Words You Do Not Say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NalaSPN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NalaSPN/gifts).



> This is a late birthday gift for my lovely [Ela](https://elaspn.tumblr.com/) <3 ILY!!!
> 
> A big, big, huge, heart-felt thank-you to [casbean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbean/pseuds/casbean), [shark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish) and [wingsandimpalas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsandImpalas/pseuds/WingsandImpalas) \- you guys made me finish this story.
> 
> The title was inspired by [this beautiful poem](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=27134)!

Cas was ecstatic when the landlord called back to tell him that he can move into the apartment in ten days.

 

It’s almost too perfect for him: close to college, in a quiet little neighborhood, more than enough space for him alone — and a little weird, just like him. 

 

His apartment is on the ground floor and has its own entryway. He has to walk through the main entrance and then back to the end of what must have once been a garden, past two other apartments on ground level, until he reaches his own apartment. 

 

And, for whatever weird reason, all of the apartments’ front doors are made of wood, with huge panels of glass. And, sure, it’s nice to have his flat flooded with light, but it’s also a little unsettling to know that everyone could walk by and watch him go about his life in there.

 

Which is why Cas is glad to have gotten the one at the back of the property, where nobody should walk past unless they’ve gotten lost on their way to a different door. And it’s also why the first thing he does, right after pulling a mattress into his room, is to search for some fabric and cover his door.

 

After a week of living here, he installs blinds, that he keeps down most of the time — just in case.

  
  
  


It’s two weeks after moving in that Cas notices that his neighbor doesn’t seem to care about the glass panels in his door as much as Cas does. He catches a glimpses of jeans and red fabric and broad shoulders, but quickly averts his eyes to grant his neighbor privacy.

  
  
  


They don’t officially meet until a few days later, but Cas sees him every other day when he slumps back from school and walks past his door. Just short glimpses that feel like  _ not-enough _ .

 

Cas is in the process of dragging two bags of groceries through the yard when his neighbor’s door flies open and the man steps out, right into Cas’ path. Cas’ brain stops complaining about the plastic strips that are currently cutting into his palms and his aching shoulders in half a second, and instead kind of fuzzes out at the sight of tousled light brown hair, freckles, gorgeous, plush lips, broad shoulders wrapped in a too-tight black shirt, bowed legs in grey sweatpants.

 

He’s entirely aware of how rude he must come across, stopping dead in his tracks and then just staring for ages, unblinking and with parted lips. But he can’t really pry his eyes away, too entranced with this man he has only seen parts of until now. This beautiful man, that is now smiling at him and clearing his throat.

 

“Hi,” he says, lips curling up even more. And, god, that dimple is the best thing Cas has ever seen. “You’re my new neighbor, right? I’m Dean.”

 

Cas wants desperately to shake his hand, just to feel if Dean’s grip would be as strong as his arms look, but his arms are still full of grocery bags. So he just smiles back, blushing a little at how Dean seems to light up even more, and bows his head. “Hello!” And, oops, that sounded very eager. He clears his throat, tries again. “I’m Castiel Novak. Or Cas. Moved in a few weeks ago.”

 

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I noticed. I moved in a year ago, guy living in your apartment before you was a real grumpy asshole. I can already tell that we’re gonna get along a lot better,” he winks, and Cas’ cheeks burn up once more. “Alright then,” he says, when he watches Cas shift the bags in his hands. “I don’t wanna hold you up even longer. Just wanted to say hi, since I’ve seen you around a lot, lately.”

 

“I meant to introduce myself, but I wasn’t sure if people actually do the whole  _ hello-have-some-baked-goods _ thing anymore. Anyway. I bought some cookie dough today to psych myself up,” Cas says, and Dean laughs, eyes shining bright green when the sun hits them.

 

“If you end up actually baking those cookies… feel free to come over and share some with me,” Dean smiles, and then takes a few steps back into his doorway. “Alright, then. Take care, Cas. I’ll see you around.”

 

“You too, Dean,” Cas says, and then he has to watch Dean retreat back to his apartment and leave Cas with throbbing hands and a stuttering heart.

  
  
  


Cas thinks about Dean a lot, and hates himself a little for not being able to get over their brief first meeting. Every bang from next doors, every time Dean listens to his music  _ just  _ loud enough so that Cas can listen with him, every time Dean comes home late at night and is super careful and quiet — but Cas hears him unlock his door and close it behind himself anyway.

 

And every day when he walks past Dean’s door, he can’t help but throw a glance through the glass to see if he can catch a glimpse of Dean again.

 

And, oh, does he catch glimpses.

 

Dean, dancing through his room while vacuuming.

 

Dean, wandering past the door to his dresser in nothing but a white towel, wrapped around his hips.

 

Dean, asleep on his desk, head pillowed on a thick book, looking entirely too adorable for a grown man drooling on his work.

 

Dean, walking figure-eights while animatedly talking on the phone.

 

Dean, being himself. Just walking past, jeans low on his hips, legs bowed, hair wild. Balancing books or fresh laundry or plates of food.

  
  
  


Cas ends up actually baking cookies, a few days later. They don’t taste great, if he’s being honest, but cookies are cookies. It takes a while before he manages to talk himself into gathering them all and walking over to Dean’s place. He knocks tentatively, and demonstratively doesn’t look inside. When Dean doesn’t open, Cas turns around to leave — just to stop again when he hears the keys in the door.

 

Dean opens, and when Cas turns around to him, he looks windswept and a little flushed. “Cas,” he says, and he sounds surprised, but also kind of happy. “How can I help you on this fine day?”

 

And Cas, faced with a smile like that, really can’t help but blush, too. “I — um, I made the cookies. They aren’t great, but I thought… I mean, I promised you some.”

 

“Oh Cas, it’s like you’ve read my mind. I’ve been craving something sweet all day, come on in,” Dean says, takes the plate of cookies from Cas’ hand and vanishes into his apartment in a flurry of movement. 

 

Cas follows carefully, leaves his shoes by the door, and then steps further inside, looking for Dean. His apartment is the exact same size as Cas’, just mirrored. There’s a big, unmade bed in one corner, a desk filled with papers and binders and college blocks in another, and a dresser shoved against one wall. 

 

“Sorry for the mess,” Dean calls from the kitchen. “Come on, now, what do you want to drink?”

 

When Cas walks in behind Dean, his cookies are in the middle of a small table, two chairs standing around it, and Dean’s head and shoulders are buried in the fridge.

 

“So? I have beer, milk, coke. There’s also some kind of healthy carrot smoothie my brother left when he visited a few weeks ago, I should get rid of that before it grows something.”

 

“Um, I — Some milk, please?

 

“Awesome,” Dean says, ducks back out from the fridge and pours them both a glass. He sinks down in his seat and gestures for Cas to do the same, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

 

Cas follows, but he’s barely sitting when Dean takes the first bite of a cookie. He chews, and chews, and… 

 

“Oh man, Cas,” he says, around a mouthful of crumbs. “I mean, store-bought won’t get better than this… but dude,  _ I  _ bake better cookies from scratch.”

 

Cas thinks that maybe he should feel offended, but instead he finds himself in one of Dean’s aprons, hip-to-hip with Dean in front of his counter, kneading dough, only a few minutes later.

 

The cookies they end up with are delicious, easily 100 times better than the one Cas bought, and they eat all of them while curled up on Dean’s bed, talking about everything and nothing.

 

When Cas leaves Dean’s place a few hours later, he feels a little like he’s flying.

  
  
  


Cas comes home from an evening out with his friend Meg a few days later. It’s already dark out, he’s a little drunk, and it takes him an embarrassing amount of time until he manages to unlock the front door and stumble into the yard.

 

He’s almost past Dean’s door when he notices that the lights inside are still on, and when he looks up from where his gaze was carefully fixed on the ground in front of him and peers into Dean’s apartment, he almost chokes on air.

 

He can see Dean’s room very clearly, but what he can see best is Dean — on his bed, naked. 

 

Cas blinks a few times, tries to discern whether he’s making this up or Dean is actually spread out on his bed, gloriously naked and touching himself unabashedly, not caring about who might see him. 

 

His breath stutters when Dean’s hips lift up into the air, and it’s then that his eyes wander from the miles of soft, tan skin up to the soft pink fabric bunched around his thighs, and then finally up to where Dean is hard and flushed in his hands.

 

He’s stroking himself fast and hard with one hand, has the other hand touching his lips, lets a finger slide between them while his feet bury into the mattress beneath him.

 

He’s flushed, and gorgeous, and Cas’ dick is already hard in his jeans, just seeing him like this. His hand shoots down, grabs his cock through the rough fabric of his pants, and the shock of pleasure that this simple touch brings finally shakes him out of his stupor.

 

Peeling his eyes off of the glorious sight that is Dean Winchester, naked and writhing in pleasure, he rips his hand from his crotch and stumbles from the door.

 

God, how could he. How could he do this, how could he creep on his neighbor, his friend, like that.

 

His hands are shaking when he finally makes it to the door of his apartment, and it feels like ages until he has it unlocked, until falls inside and locks the door behind himself. He doesn’t switch the light on, just thumps back against the door, hurriedly unbuttons his pants and starts to jerk himself, rough and fast, doesn’t allow himself to enjoy it, or think about what he could have done to make Dean feel even better — until he’s coming all over his hand with a punched-out grunt, biting down on his lower lip. 

 

He kicks his shoes off, stumbles through the darkness and towards the bathroom, where he has just enough rational thought left to wash his hands before walking out and to his bed. He makes it out of his jeans, falls between his sheets and hides from the world. From his shame, from all the thoughts screaming at him to walk back outside and watch, see how Dean looks when he comes, maybe knock on the door and hope for Dean to invite him in.

 

It takes a while before his mind calms down enough for him to slip into a restless sleep.

  
  
  


When he eventually wakes up, apartment only barely lit by early-morning-sun, cock hard and insistently pressing against his stomach, he isn’t even surprised.

 

No amount of alcohol would have made him forget what he saw, how lovely Dean looked.

 

He stays in bed for a while, doesn’t touch his dick all morning, and when ignoring doesn’t help, he suffers through a long, cold shower.

 

And then he spends all day trying not to think about his neighbor.

  
  
  


When Cas walks past Dean’s apartment the next day to go for a walk and take his mind off of a certain person only one wall away, and stoically doesn’t look inside Dean’s place, he feels a little like he’s losing his mind. 

 

But then the door flies open and Dean steps out, beaming. “Hey, Cas. Are you, um. Are you busy?”

 

Cas’ mind stutters to a halt, as it always seems to do around Dean, these days. “Um,” he says, intelligently. “Um, no. No, I was just about to go on a walk because I — I was bored.”

 

“Awesome,” Dean breathes, and then he catches Cas’ wrist and pulls him inside, not seeming to notice how Cas’ skin catches fire beneath his fingertips.

 

“I have an Ikea situation,” Dean says, and Cas watches as he carefully steps over pieces of wood and screws and tools that are covering the entirety of the room. “I mean, I could get it done on my own, I guess. Strong man and all that. But Ikea is more fun when you have someone helping you.”

 

“That’s true,” Cas smiles, looking through the chaos in search for an instruction manual. “What will it be, once we’re done with it?”

 

Dean looks up at him with a crooked grin, crouching down and pulling a manual from seemingly nowhere. “Nightstand.”

 

“Alright, then. Let’s get started, what do we need?”

  
  
  


They work for a while, quiet and surprisingly fluid, handing each other parts and tools, holding up pieces when the other has to screw them together. 

 

When they are almost done, and all that’s left is to screw on the handles of the drawer, Dean kneels down in front of Cas to tilt the nightstand up into its right position, and that’s when Cas brain stops working. 

 

Because right there, between where Dean’s shirt is riding up and exposes a gorgeous little strip of soft skin, there’s lace. Soft and blue, stretching out from beneath his jeans.

 

And Cas thinks back to that night, when he caught Dean touching himself. Thinks back to the soft pink fabric stretched over Dean’s thighs, isn’t sure how he hasn’t realized it earlier. Dean likes to wear panties. Dean is wearing panties right now. 

 

He spends the rest of that stay in a daze, can’t think about anything else, can’t stop staring, trying to catch another glimpse. Barely manages to say goodbye to Dean and stumble home, once the nightstand is done and the tools have been put away. Mumbles something about having to do laundry.

 

As soon as he’s home, he calls Meg, and they make plans to get drunk that night. 

  
  
  


It’s pathetic, really, that he’s too hung up on his neighbor to even really get shit-faced with his best friend. They end up talking, mostly. 

 

Cas, whining about how gorgeous and intelligent and sweet and pretty and  _ hot  _ Dean is. 

 

Meg, telling Cas how dumb and pathetic and in love he is. How he should just talk to Dean. How nobody would ask just anyone to build furniture with them. How nobody would spend an entire afternoon baking cookies with someone they don’t like.

  
  
  


When Cas walks past Dean’s place that night, and the light is on again, it’s a mix of alcohol-buzz and heavy heart that makes him stop. 

 

He decides, then, to allow himself one tiny glance. Just to see what Dean’s up to, that late.

 

But when he raises his head, looks up and towards Dean’s bed, that little deal with himself disappears into thin air in seconds.

 

Dean is naked again, bathed in the soft light of the room, almost glowing with it. Contrary to last time, where he was spread out on his bed, fisting his cock, he’s on his knees this time. He has one hand behind himself, and when he raises up on his knees, Cas realizes that he’s fingering himself.

 

Fucking himself, really, with the passion and speed he sinks down again, pushes up, sinks down. With the way he rolls his hips, desperate and greedy. 

 

He can’t tear his eyes from Dean’s thighs, soft and speckled with freckles, tensing with his movement. And his cock, red and flushed and leaking, and looking so good that all Cas can think about is how it would feel to wrap his lips around him. His stomach, muscles tensing on every down-stroke.

 

But then he grinds down harder on his fingers, cock jumping against his stomach and moves his hips in tiny little circles, and Cas  _ needs  _ to see what expression he makes.

 

He expects most of it: the ruffled hair, his plush lips, hanging slightly open, pink tongue poking out, the glazed look of his eyes. What he didn’t expect, though, are Dean’s green eyes, looking straight at him. Right at his face. 

 

Cas jerks back, away from the door, and Dean’s eyes follow. 

 

He doesn’t look mad, or shocked, or even just annoyed. He looks a little smug, batting his lashes at him. And then he sucks his lower lip between his teeth, bites down on it, and just continues to watch. He look right at Cas when he starts to move on his fingers again. 

 

He throws his head back in pleasure, moans something. A short word, something that looks a lot like it must sound like  _ Cas _ , and Cas’ brain short-circuits.

 

And then Dean’s eyes flicker and he lowers his head, nods to the empty side of the bed next to him as if in invitation. Cas steps closer, feels a little like in trance, until he reaches the doorknob and twists, and it opens beneath his hand.

 

When he looks up again, still through the glass of the door, Dean is grinning from cheek to cheek. 

 

And that’s all the invitation he needs, Cas decides, as he walks in and closes the door behind himself — but not before he throws his jacket over the top of it, to cover at least parts of the glass panels.

 

Dean laughs, breathless and giddy, and watches Cas stumble out of his boots and rush towards him. Once Dean’s actually in reach, though, and Cas’ hand is up in the air between them, ready to finally touch, his brain freezes.

 

Dean watches Cas watch him for a while, until he apparently decides to take matters into his own hands again.

 

He sits up, eases off of his fingers, and then reaches up with his clean hand. He wraps his fingers around Cas wrist, frozen in the air between them, and then he tugs.

 

Tugs until Cas’ knees hit the bed frame between them, and then even more, until he sinks down on the bed in front of Dean. “You — you want this too, right?” Dean asks, and for the first time today, he sounds unsure, a little scared. 

 

Cas can’t stop staring at Dean’s broad chest, his shoulders, his freckled cheeks. His eyes. God, they’ve never been this close, Cas has never realized how  _ green  _ his eyes are. 

 

He shakes himself out of it, though, murmurs: “God, yes, I do.”

 

And then Dean’s worry vanishes, and he laughs again. “Thank god,” he says, and wraps his arms around the back of Cas’ neck. “Cas, fuck. I think we’ve been dancing around this thing long enough, haven’t we?”

 

Cas smiles, leans down until his forehead brushes against Dean’s. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I think so, too.”

 

“Then kiss me,” Dean huffs, and Cas can’t do anything but duck down and finally, finally capture Dean’s soft, plush lips between his own. 

 

It’s everything, to finally feel those lips move against his own, to feel Dean’s tongue slip out and trace the seam of his lips. It’s also not enough and too much all at the same time, and Cas’ hands fly up, sneak around Dean’s body, land on the hot, naked skin of his hips.

 

His breath catches somewhere in his chest, and he huffs against Dean’s lips.

 

“You alright there, Cas?” Dean teases, hands snaking down to the seam of his shirt, fingers making their way beneath it to dance over the naked skin of Cas’ stomach.

 

“I’ve just — I can’t believe this is happening,” he laughs, burying his head in the crook of Dean’s neck.

 

“Me neither,” Dean says, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “God, Cas, I thought either you really didn’t want me, and then all the things I’ve been doing were just inappropriate and awful as fuck — or you were just… really, really slow on the uptake.” He laughs, his breath warm and perfect against Cas’ skin.

 

“Slow on the uptake it is,” Cas mumbles, and he’s glad for their position because his face must be burning red. “Can’t really believe someone as gorgeous as you would — you know. Me.”

 

“You,” Dean agrees, and then his hands come up to pull Cas’ face from its hiding place, broad palms around Cas’ cheeks. “Yes, you.”

 

Cas can’t help it, the giddy smile that breaks out on his face, and he tumbles back into Dean’s arms, kisses him hard and demanding, until they fall back to the bed together.

 

Dean’s still half-hard against Cas’ thigh, Cas can feel him through the rough fabric of his jeans, and suddenly all Cas can think about is teasing Dean back to full hardness, the one he robbed him of with all his talking. Dean moans against his lips, breathless and happy, and Cas grins. 

 

He pulls away from Dean’s mouth, as hard as it is, and trails kisses down his throat, leaves some on his sharp clavicles before moving down to capture a nipple between his lips. Dean arches up into the touch, whines and tangles his fingers in Cas’ hair when Cas lets his teeth graze over the hardened nub.

 

“Cas,” he says. “As much as I — as much as I love this, I wanna get you out of your clothes, please.”

 

Cas breaks away again, intent on doing what Dean wants as fast as possible. But before his hands can come down to his shirt, Dean is already sitting up, fingers pulling on it instead. He’s impatient, almost hits Cas several times while he’s ripping his shirt up and over his head — but once he’s done, his hands come down to brush over Cas’ shoulders, his chest, his tensing stomach, and Cas feels like he’s burning up beneath his fingertips.

 

And then those gentle fingers leave his skin and move to unbutton his pants, swift and a little shaky. And when Dean is done, and shoves both Cas’ jeans and his underwear down his thighs, Cas’ cock jumping up against his stomach, he groans low in his throat.

 

They manage to pull them off and down Cas’ legs in a tangle of limbs, and then Cas falls back down on top of Dean, holding him close for a while, just breathing. 

 

“Dean,” he whispers into his skin. “Can I —”

 

“Anything,” Dean answers, and Cas sits up to straddle his thighs, enough that he can go back to watching Dean. He’s out of breath and flushed, looking up at Cas with dazed eyes, lower lip between his teeth once more.

 

He wants to do so much. Wants to take Dean apart, wants to suck him down his throat, wants him riding down on Cas’ fingers instead of his own, wants to fuck him so bad it hurts somewhere deep in his stomach. 

 

But right now, with Dean spread out beneath him like this, he can’t do anything but scoot up until he can line up their cocks and grind down against Dean without much finesse. 

 

Dean keens, high in his throat, and presses up against him, rock-hard cock slipping against Cas’ in a delicious slide, slick with precome already. 

 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean whines, hands roaming over Cas’ back, moving down to hold onto his ass, pulling him in closer. “Don’t wanna fuck me?”

 

“Can’t,” Cas murmurs, a little frantic and very lost in the pleasure of Dean’s touch. “Just — just like this, first. If it’s okay with you?”

 

“I’ll take you every way I can get you,” Dean chuckles breathlessly, mouthing against Cas’ neck, grinding up against him in a way that makes both of them lose their minds a little more. 

 

Cas pants, catches Dean in another kiss, and snakes his hand down between them.

 

Holding Dean between his palm, having him rub against his own cock, so tight, so hot, so hard — Cas loses himself in the rough grind, their mouths still tangled, breathing into each other.

 

“Come on,” Dean breaths, his own hand coming up to squeeze around them even tighter. “I want you to come — all over me, Cas, come on.”

 

He pulls on Cas’ thighs, makes him abandon their cocks until he’s straddling Dean’s chest, and then he reaches down and wraps his own hand around Cas’ dick, hard and throbbing. The angle is a little awkward, but just the thought of having Dean’s hand on him has him stuttering closer to the edge. 

 

Dean jerks him just tight enough, has him groaning and curling down towards him — but when Dean opens his mouth, stretches his tongue out and looks up at him with wide, lust-blown eyes, Cas can’t hold back any longer. 

 

“Come on, Cas,” he murmurs again, and Cas comes with a low cry, toe-curling, his come painting Dean in thick white ropes: his chest, his neck, his chin. Dean just makes a breathless sound, brings his hand down to his chest to gather some come, licks his fingers clean with soft noises that make Cas’ dick twitch where it’s trying to soften against his thigh. 

 

Boneless, he sinks down against Dean’s chest and kisses him until both of them can’t breathe. It’s only when Dean’s cock shifts against his ass that Cas realizes he has something very important left to do.

 

He scoots down lower, when he eventually manages to break away from Dean’s lips, until he’s kneeling between his soft thighs. He can’t help it, the burning need to leave his mark, so he ends up pressing kisses and biting soft marks and sucking bruises, before he moves closer to Dean’s cock.

 

Dean is rock-hard, leaking, stretching up towards his stomach, and when Cas leans down to wrap his lips around his tip, he keens high in his throat. 

 

“Yes, yes,” he says, frantic, as his hands weave into Cas’ hair.

 

Cas’ lips stretch into a smile around him, and then he slides his tongue over Dean’s slit, gathers his precome. He tastes amazing, and Cas can’t help the low hum his body forces out at the salty-bitter taste. 

 

“Cas,” Dean breathes. “Won’t take long — fuck, you’re so goddamn hot. Are you gonna give me your fingers? Please, Cas, need you.”

 

Dean raises his knees before Cas can even make a move, and then it takes no time at all before Cas’ fingers are circling his hole carefully. He’s still wet with lube, and when he presses down into Cas’ grip, the first finger slips inside easily. 

 

When Cas finds his prostate, Dean moans, throws an arm over his face and mumbles breathless nonsense into his skin that delights Cas to no end. He crooks his finger again, rubs up against that special spot, and takes Dean lower down his throat.

 

“Fuck, fuck, yes,” he says. “Yes, yes, again. I’m gonna —”

 

Cas complies, finger rubbing circles over Dean’s prostate, swallowing around his cock once, twice. Dean bucks up, chokes Cas a little, his stomach tensing, thighs shaking around Cas’ body — and then Dean comes down his throat, hard and spasming. The noises he makes sound a little like he’s going mad, shaking apart beneath Cas, but all Cas can focus on is his come, hot and salty across his tongue. He swallows him down, moans at the taste, the soft vibrations around Dean’s cock just making him whine even more.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers, gently pulling Cas off by his hair. “Oh fuck, that was good.”

 

Cas laughs, soft and pleased, and wipes his hand on the bedspread before moving up and back into Dean’s embrace. He kisses him, more gentle this time, finally not in a hurry, and smiles against his lips when Dean’s arms wrap around him tight.

 

“C’me here,” Dean whispers, dazed and dopey, tugging him in as close as possible. 

 

They hold each other for a while, their breathing calming down against each other’s skin, leaving tiny kisses everywhere.

 

“One of us’ll have to get up eventually. Gotta lock the door and switch off the lights before we can fall asleep,” Dean groans, head lolling against Cas’ chest. “I’m also very sticky.”

 

Cas’ heart beats overtime in his chest at the soft admission behind Dean’s words, the fact that he wants Cas to stay the night. “Sorry about that,” he chuckles, giddy and breathless all over again. “I’ll get us ready for bed.”

 

When the door is locked, Dean is clean, the lights are off, and Cas is back to being wrapped around Dean, a heavy, comfortable silence settles around them. 

 

Cas is almost on the brink of falling asleep when Dean talks again. “I won’t have to make a huge naked voyeuristic show out of it every time I want you to come over and touch me, will I?”

 

Cas laughs, pulls Dean even closer. “I won’t stop touching you anytime soon, now that I’m allowed to.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this random thing!! Comments would mean the world to me <3
> 
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](https://suckerfordeansfreckles.tumblr.com/)? There is also a [rebloggable version of this story](https://suckerfordeansfreckles.tumblr.com/post/182830806569/with-words-you-do-not-say-word-count-4916) :')


End file.
